Requiem
by BarricadeBoy221B
Summary: 'And we thought Boston was bad'- The twins vs zombies. A combination that will never get old for me.
1. Safe house

After a near miss with a group of walkers, the boys had had to take refuge in the nearest house. They'd both used their guns - a stupid move, yes, but they'd take the risk over one of their lives. Dumping their bags in the living room, the two got to work on securing the doors. There were infected everywhere, but the density of the houses in this neighborhood thankfully made the gunshots difficult to pinpoint precisely. It wasn't looking good, that was for sure, but hopefully if they hunkered down and kept quiet they'd be gone by morning if they were lucky. Still, the noise of barricading the door was disconcerting, and it made Connor anxious. Having gone looking for anything they could use to cover the windows, Murphy soon returned to his brother, several blankets tucked under one arm. Nodding at the half-finished door, he broke the silence between them.

"How's it goin'?"

"Still alive - s'all I can say, for now. Almost done here."

He could hear the nerves in his brother's voice, and he couldn't blame him for letting them show a little. Before their first job, Connor had asked Murphy if he'd felt nervous. But, since the world had plummeted into chaos, having the undead wandering around warranted a new kind of anxiety. Setting the blankets and sheets down, Murphy started hanging them up against the window, keeping a close eye on the street outside as he did so.

"You had a chance to see how much food there is?"

"Why do you ask such fuckin' stupid questions? You know I haven't"

"Fuck you – I was just checkin'. We're runnin' out pretty damn fast-"

"Aye, well, at least now I know who to go to when I need someone to tell me the fuckin' obvious."

A snarled curled Murphy's top lip up for a moment, but he let it go for the time being. They were both exhausted, nerves fried – neither of them had ever been any good at keeping from snapping at the other, perhaps because they knew they'd be forgiven within the hour. He finished covering the windows in silence, and once he was finished, he muttered an excuse as he left the room – Connor thought he'd heard him say something about the kitchen, but he hadn't caught it, and didn't feel like asking him to repeat himself. He hadn't meant to bite Murphy's head off, but to be perfectly honest, he was starting to wonder if either of them were really built for this new life. Being on the run from the law, that was one thing. Running from the entire human race was in another ballpark.

Thoughts of their days as the Saints was so far in the back of Connor's mind that it never crossed it. Now wasn't the time to dwell on such things. The lives they'd had before were gone, just as their 'innocence' disappeared the moment those Russians attempted to murder his brother, only now the stakes were even higher. These men and women, these _things_, they didn't have motivations, they didn't have schemes or thoughts of money and greed... and in many ways their undying quest for more food was even worse. He knew he'd never forget his first encounter with the infected; how Murphy had been the one to put her out of her misery. But it hadn't been mercy driving his brother then – it'd been to save Connors life. It was then that their entire moral code had to be stripped down to basics, reevaluated. Modified.


	2. Behind closed doors

It wasn't just the undead that got to Murphy - it was the silence that followed them wherever they went. This had been someone's home once...now it was just a refuge for any desperate survivors who happened across it. Eventually, he found the kitchen; a large room, with another door at the opposite end. Pulling his flashlight from his back pocket, he pushed it between his teeth as he began opening cupboards and drawers. All bare. Slamming a door closed, Murphy took the flashlight back, swearing under his breath as he approached the other door. Probably a pantry or something, but it was worth checking out anyway. Maybe if he returned somewhat victorious it'd improve Connors mood a little. He'd noticed his brother starting to change – shooting and killing innocent people...none of it sat right with Murphy, morally or otherwise, but Connor really took it to heart. While both of them would go to Hell and back to protect the other, there was always a nagging reminder at the backs of their minds, telling them that some part of this was wrong.

They had become hardened in the last month, fighting for their lives with every day that passed. They'd had far too many close calls, too many almost-disasters... if this was God's way of saying 'fuck you' he surely got his point across. They'd sinned, of course. Killing in the name of God was one thing, but this? This was worse than any hell that Connor could have conjured up in his mind. What was worse that there were no 'maybes' with this new fucked up world. It was how it was and there were no grey areas. No second chances. And while they weren't strangers to taking lives, they'd both been sure not to become cocky. The amount of times they'd escaped a situation by the skin of their teeth… they acted as a constant reminder that arrogance could be fatal.

But even the most hardened of men can slip up, as Murphy would soon learn. In a split second, followed by the longest moments of his life - he opened the pantry door and before he could register how badly he'd screwed up his arm was being grabbed, and teeth were being sunk into his flesh. It fucking hurt - worse, in a way, than being shot. He tried to keep himself as quiet as possible, but as he ripped his arm away, he couldn't keep himself from yelling out. He backed up into the room, grabbing for anything on the counter top to use as a weapon.

It was a young woman, or at least it had been, who staggered out after him, hissing and groaning, Murphy's blood around her mouth. As she lurched for another bite, Murphy quickly grabbed the first hard object he could reach, and struck her in the head. As soon as she hit the floor, he brought the object in his hand down again, and again, until she stopped twitching, and he was left alone once more. Now that the immediate danger had been dealt with, he hurriedly pulled a kitchen cloth down from the counter and wrapped his arm up, his sleeve barely coming down in time before Connor skidded into the doorway.


	3. That's the thing about pain

First he saw the blood on the floor, his own turning to ice in his veins seconds later. The body is still bleeding, but dead nonetheless. Without another seconds hesitation he was at Murphy's side, the worry in his tone and expression impossible to miss as he took his shoulders in his hands. At a glance, he looked alright – shaken, but alright.

"Murph' – fuckin' Christ, you alright? Tell me you're alright, come on-"

"I'm fine – Connor, I'm fine. Jus' gave me heart attack is all…" Neither was very accustomed to lying to their sibling, but then again, Murphy guessed that was why Connor didn't catch it as he swallowed the lie like a dry pill. He was too concerned with his wellbeing to notice. He would have been the same with Connor, he knew that. He was thankful it was dark, that they could barely see each other; his entire demeanor was a second away from crumbling. He hated lying to Connor, simply because they just never did it. They had lied to others -nothing big, of course - but between the two of them? Nothing had ever been hidden. But now, he here was - lying straight to his twins face. Still, he was mindful to try and keep his tone even, and his injured arm just out of the way. Connor believed him, so he'd have no reason to check him over. He trusted him. And as he was pulled into a tight hug, the dry pill became that much rougher going down.

"…I'm sorry I scared you"

"Don't make a habit out of it – you're sure you're alright? No scratches or-"

"Aye, I'm sure – didn't get close enough. Jus' scared the shit outta me"

"I'll bet." Connor offered a small smile, though Murphy could see that raw fear from seconds ago still ebbing its way out of his system. He didn't speak again until they'd finished checking the rest of the house, making sure it was clear before they let themselves relax even a little. Slumping onto the bed in one of the rooms upstairs, Connor could only look at his hands, Murphy too busy checking the lock on the door to notice.

"I'm sorry, Murph'. For snappin' earlier. Didn't mean ta bite your head off" Murphy just glanced back, shrugging a little.

"S'fine. I know you didn't."

"An' for that, back there. I should'a been there with you. I should've known better than to let'cha go off-"

"Conn' – I'm fine. You can that for yourself. You don't need to follow me everywhere, I can look after me'self."

"I'm bein' serious - y'know what I mean, Murph', an' I'm not gonna have you going off by yourself again. Where you go, I go. Vice versa. Y'hear me?" When Murphy just nodded in reply, Connor dropped his head down, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. With his gaze finally elsewhere, Murphy ventured to excuse himself – of course, with protest at first, but with the bathroom only a few feet away and them both knowing this floor was clear, hesitantly, Connor let him go. Only once the door locked did Murphy let himself show just how much pain he was in. The bite wound would surely start bleeding through to his shirt soon, he'd need to dress it somehow. But there was nothing in here, nothing he could really use to cover it long term – that was assuming 'long term' still applied to him. Eventually finding a flannel cloth, he bit down on his tongue as he peeled away the towel from before, dressing the wound as best he could before cleaning his hands of blood, checking his shirt again, and going back to his brother.


End file.
